


A Little Unsteady

by Eve_Louise (Stregatrek)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dream Violence, Garak's life is terrible and I want to give him a hug, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, idk sometimes I get sad and write things like this, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7625290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stregatrek/pseuds/Eve_Louise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "the Wire," Garak struggles to find his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Unsteady

After the events of “The Wire,” Garak tries to find his feet.

“How do you feel?” Julian placed his tray gently opposite Garak’s and sank into his seat, facing the Cardassian with wide eyes and a soft smile.  


Garak put down his cutlery and fixed the doctor with his light-eyed stare. “Honestly, doctor, are you going to ask me that every time we meet? It’s _terribly _direct of you.”  
__

__Julian laughed. “I’m sorry, Garak, please forgive me for caring so _terribly _.”  
____

____Startled at the shade of double meaning it was possible to pull from that sentence, Garak blinked at the apparently unfazed human across from him. “Of course, doctor, I can hardly hold emotionalism against someone bound by the failings of their species.”  
____

____

Shaking his head, Julian laughed again. “I guess you are feeling better, if you’re going to make digs at my species. Then again, we aren’t the ones who thought _the Never-Ending Sacrifice _a noble pursuit.”  
__

__Garak’s eyeridges rose very slightly before he could stop them. The doctor was truly in top form today. _The never-ending sacrifice a noble pursuit… really Julian, it’s almost as though you think I chose my fate. _“I assure you, doctor, if you read it in the original Kardasi it would make much more sense. At the moment, I suspect you are lacking some vital… cultural context.” _How’s that, then, Julian? I hope you know how flirtatious you’re being, silly thing. _He smiled thinly across their lunch table.  
______

______“Mm, perhaps you should enlighten me? I’m always receptive to lessons of one sort or another. Particularly on such a fascinating subject.” The doctor was leaning right back across the table, watching him with an amused gaze.  
______

______

Suddenly, Garak found himself wondering if he might have said something in his hazy state of mental instability that had made Bashir aware of the more-than-friendly leanings he’d found himself prey to regarding the young officer. “I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment, what with the wedding coming up and all. Ensign G’hast’en really is rather choosy when it comes to sleeve length,”  


“And you’d hate to disappoint her.” Julian retreated to his side of the table, returning to his meal. “Of course. Perhaps some other time then?” It slid into his tone that perhaps Garak might have disappointed _him _.  
__

__Finding this difficult to bear and unable to restrain himself completely, Garak let an enigmatic smile slip onto his face. “Perhaps.” He looked down at his own plate, and was just debating the most effective discussion to engage the young man in when Julian’s commbadge chirruped.  
__

__

“Bashir here,” the doctor answered quickly, tilting his mouth apologetically at Garak.   


“Doctor Bashir, please meet Major Kira in the infirmary,” Dax’s voice filtered through the commlink. “As quickly as you can.”  


“On my way.” He stood. “I’m so sorry Garak- perhaps we could try again tomorrow?”   


“I look forward to it,” the Cardassian inclined his head, regretting that he hadn’t engaged more with the charming man whilst he’d had the chance. It was ridiculous to resent Major Kira (on this basis, at least), but he couldn’t help it; Julian was a rare bright spot in his life, made more precious by recent events, and having him unexpectedly taken away was not a pleasant experience. After a few minutes in the Replimat attracting stares, he gave lunch up as a bad job and carried the tray back to his shop. He really did have a lot of work to do.  
* 

He sat bolt upright in bed, hair in disarray, unable to help the gasp that escaped his slightly parted lips as he grasped at the bedcovers. Instinctively, one hand reached for the weapon beneath his pillow as he scanned the room, even as he talked himself down. _Only a dream, Elim, it was only a dream… __Bashir beneath him, smiling, mouthing his name- and then he stabbed him, over and over, until the sheets were dark, only he couldn’t remember whose blood it was- and Bashir held him as he died and when the light left the doctor’s eyes Garak wasn’t sure which of them was gone.___

 _ _ _ _Releasing his weapon, Garak pressed his hands over his eyes. It was cold in his quarters, as always, but he still felt the urge to fling away the blankets.  
* ____

____

Was it just his imagination that Julian kept looking at him like that? The gaze being levelled across the table was almost enough to raise the temperature of the station, and yet… “Is there something the matter, doctor?”  


“Not at all, Garak,” Julian forced a smile- definitely forced- and went back to his food.  


“I read the novel you lent me.” _Not that there’s any other activity at night conducive to continuing sanity. _Garak’s mouth twisted slightly. He’d had nightmares every night since the removal of Tain’s implant, a variety of distasteful scenarios all seeming to center on losing the few things of value that remained in his life.__

 _ _“Oh, _Catch-22 _? What did you think?” Meeting his eyes again with a bright smile, Julian seemed honestly interested. But _why _, why was it that once a week he was interested and otherwise they never saw each other, unless Garak stopped by the infirmary (which he hated doing), why was this _all _? It was so blatantly, maddeningly insufficient…  
________

________“I rather enjoyed the writing style,”  
________

________

“You would,”  


“But I found the plot and the overall message to be… somewhat lacking.”  


Bashir smiled. “I thought you might. They don’t seem particularly enthused to serve their state, do they?”  


“I admit, I had to research the idea of the catch-22. Cardassia has no such thing, obviously; military service is an honor, and combat missions even more so. There is no reason to wish to be discharged from a duty both enjoyable and honorable.”   


“Of course not, on Cardassia. Your society has evolved very different values than Earth, and the time period in which this was written was one of great unrest and very pervasive discourse on the _point _of war, why we were so willing to sacrifice our lives in the pursuit of killing one another.”  
__

__Garak smiled and leaned back in his chair, happy for the first time in a week.  
* __

__

_He was walking the corridors, on his way to his shop, humming slightly and thinking about nothing in particular. “Elim,” the shout came from behind him, and he turned to greet Julian with a smile, but the other man was frowning, holding a phaser. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Garak shook his head, wondering what he was supposed to have said, mysteriously unable to speak, and he wanted to explain himself but he couldn’t make his mouth open, and then it was too late anyway, because Julian was pulling the trigger with a resigned expression that spoke of mild inconvenience rather than regret, and he was saying “I don’t know why I bother.” _  
__

__When Garak awoke with a start, he laid very still in the darkness for a long time, staring at the chronometer beside his bed and only now and then finding the willpower to wish that it would hurry up and show ship’s day again so he could walk by the infirmary on his way to work.  
* __

__

Life aboard the station was coming to the point of unbearable monotony. There was simply nothing that held his attention, and every day stretched ahead and behind him in an unbearable, unbroken string of boredom, made worse for the fact of his restlessness. He _wanted _something to do, wanted to be engaged and challenged, but being given absolutely nothing. True, there was work, and those few station personnel who would deign to speak with him, and he’d done his level best to amplify both of those aspects.  
__

__He’d tried everything. He took on more orders, purposely went out of his way to advertise his wares. Garak had even gone so far as to loiter about at Quark’s, having a lonely drink at the bar, but that had been just as big a fiasco as he could have predicted. It seemed he simply had no way of assuaging the restlessness that plagued him. Except, of course, Dr. Bashir.  
__

__

At the end of the day, no matter what he’d done, all he wanted was to discuss it with Julian, perhaps over a nice glass of kanaar, some tea. Their meetings in the replimat were all he really looked forward to, even when Julian was distracted and didn’t look at him the way he usually did, with that soft smile and intent eyes. No one else looked at him that way, and he didn’t want them to. He wanted Julian, more time with Julian, more conversations with Julian.  


It was useless to try, though, he knew that. The first thing he thought when he saw the young doctor’s lovely naïve face was of his nightmares, then just as he managed to call himself back, engage with the one man who would tolerate it from him, Julian would leave. His job pulled him away, his other friends kept him away, and it was all Garak could do to edge himself slightly into Julian’s life. Not that he deserved to be there, anyway.  


The tailor looked around at his empty shop and heaved a sigh, flexing his cold fingers in an attempt to get circulation going again as he worked on a light green tunic he’d designed with a man of Bashir’s build and coloring in mind, though it would likely grace the frame of someone far less lovely, in the end.   
* 

_Tain was waiting, the next time he fell asleep. Standing with his arms folded, a good deal younger, Garak saw him and knew his child-self was in for a stern punishment. “What have you done this time, Elim?” Hearing that brought him back to his youth rather unpleasantly. Tain had never been one to simply mete out punishment. He liked to hear the details from the mouth of the wrongdoer. Sometimes he even asked what punishment Elim felt was appropriate to his crime. Garak had always chosen the harshest punishment he could. And Tain had always given it to him. “If an agent betrays Cardassia, what shall be his punishment?” _  
__

___“He shall never again see Cardassia.” _  
____

_____“And if a man betrays his family, what shall we do with him?” _  
______

_______“He shall never again see his family.” _  
________

_________“The wrongdoer learns from this, does he?” _  
__________

___________“He has a lifetime to realize his mistake, and Cardassia- and his family- are free to continue without him, better for his absence.” _  
____________

_____________“Very good, Elim. You may go. But don’t come back.” _  
*______________

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Well, Major, I certainly don’t know what makes you think I have anything to do with it.”  
______________

______________

Kira’s hands were on her hips, her forehead wrinkled from her hairline to the permanent wrinkles at the bridge of her nose. “Seeing as you’re the only Cardassian on the station, and it requires a Cardassian bioprint to unlock, I can’t help but think otherwise,”  


“Ah, but my dear Major, I am but a simple tailor. Why on earth would anyone key a lock to my biosign?”  


“How should I know? This is your bloody station.”  


“Oh, hardly mine, if it were I’d have something to say about the uniforms, you can be sure.” Garak smiled without showing any teeth.  


“Your fashion preferences aside, ‘tailor,’ just press your thumb here,” She rolled her eyes, gesturing at the panel between them, on the other side of which most of the senior staff was trapped, having triggered an invasion protocol sealing off Ops.   


Garak reached out a hand, and paused at the last moment. “And what happens when I do? What if I receive some sort of shock or trigger a secondary trap?”  


“Is that likely?”   


“On a Cardassian station that was under the charge of Gul Dukat for years, any harm that can be done is likely.”  


“Well, we agree on that at the very least,” Kira answered, snorting slightly through her nose. “Alright, Garak, we’ll get someone up here to run some scans.”  


Inclining his head, Garak answered, “Very thoughtful of you Major, I do appreciate your concern for my life.”  


Looking as though she would very much like to argue against any concern for his life, Kira tapped her comm badge. “Kira to Odo, can you send a security guard up here?”  


“Of course, Major, right away.”  


Looking sideways at Garak, she tapped the badge again. “Kira to O’Brien. Chief, I know you’re stuck in Ops, but could you have someone come meet us outside the door so we can be sure there aren’t going to be any ill effects from opening it?” Garak could tell from her expression that reminding her of Gul Dukat had brought to the forefront of her mind all the consequences that might be faced as a result of forcing any door open against his express programming. These might very well range from an electric shock to the person doing the opening to the instant gassing of anyone inside Ops.   


In the face of such possible repercussions, it seemed that waiting a few minutes for an engineer and a security officer wouldn’t be such a high cost after all.  


Garak stood idly by the door, without much to say. He was aware of how unusual that was for him, but for some reason there just wasn’t anything to say now that he had gotten his way. Major Kira seemed aware of the uncharacteristic silence, for she kept throwing sideways glances his way as if she might have asked what was wrong, were he anyone else. Given that he was not anyone else, however, it was up to him to break the silence. “So, Major, how did this happen in the first place?”  


“I’m not sure, I wasn’t there,” Kira hedged. Obviously, she didn’t want to share much with him, and he didn’t blame her. Who would?  


“Of course, Major.” He allowed the graceless exit from conversation, not having much else to say anyway. They waited in silence for a few moments, and Garak reflected on how very strange it was, not to fill silence with words and yet get nothing from the silence. He could hear the gentle vibration of the station, see Major Kira shuffling her stance in an attempt to keep herself busy, and yet nothing he could see or hear truly meant anything. There was nothing for him to do with any of the information, even if it hadn’t been completely mundane. It was a novel experience, to be existing for the sake of existence. “I do wish your team would hurry up; I have a lunch appointment with Doctor Bashir,” Something in his temperament would not abide any casual silence as filled with pointless tension as this one, and so he broke it yet again.  


“Well, I’d hate to keep Doctor Bashir waiting,” Kira said, her lip curling.  


“Yes, it does seem rather rude, doesn’t it?” Garak agreed in an amiable tone. “Ah, here are our rescuers.”  


The engineering ensign arrived first, the security officer just behind. “Scan this area for threats,” Kira directed them. “Particularly the door and any mechanisms that may be attached, anything that could trigger a trap of any kind.”  


“Yes sir,” They both saluted and fell to work.  


After a short time spent staring into space, wondering idly if Dukat would have been good enough to leave him a surprise death undetectable by security scans, Garak was called upon to press his thumb against the sensor pad again. “Very well; wish me luck.” He gave Major Kira a flat smile and extended his hand, touching the door with almost an expectation of death.  


To everyone’s surprise, and two peoples’ regret, the doors slid open with no struggle.  


“Seems as though Dukat didn’t have a hand in this one,” Kira observed. “It probably was just meant to be sure that no Bajorans made their way to Ops.”  


“It does indeed seem that way.” Garak agreed before he turned and headed away down from Ops without waiting for an acknowledgement he was unlikely to get. If anything, the officers he’d freed would only accuse him of having access codes they didn’t possess. _Only if one considers DNA an access code, _Garak thought to himself as he boarded a turbolift headed for the Replimat.  
__

__“Hello, doctor Bashir,” he said, sitting down across from his waiting companion. “My apologies for my tardiness, there was a situation outside of Ops that required my attention.”  
__

__

“Ah, did someone snag their uniform on the way to work?”  


Garak smiled at Bashir’s bright eyes. “Yes, but nothing a few quick stitches couldn’t repair. You know those uniforms; terribly unfashionable but at least they’re straightforward.”  


Bashir grinned back. “Well I’m sure that you did your level best with what you were given,”  


“I always do,”   


They ate in silence for a moment. “Have you had a chance to look over the play I gave you?”  


“ _The Cherry Orchard _?” Garak quirked up the corner of his mouth, and when Bashir nodded excitedly he felt the ridiculous urge to reach across the table and take the doctor’s hand.  
__

__“Well, what did you think?”  
__

__

Shaking his head as much to clear it as to indicate disdain, Garak answered, “I honestly don’t even know _where _to begin.” In all honesty, he could have talked for hours, but he was more interested in what Bashir thought. “What do you think?”  
__

__“Well, did you have a favorite character?”  
__

__

“Ah, ah; I asked first.” Garak wagged a finger at the doctor as Julian wrapped spaghetti around his fork.  


The doctor smiled. “Hm, so you did,” He thought for a moment. “I suppose I like the lovers.”  


“You would,” Garak reached across the table to wipe sauce from the corner of Bashir’s mouth before he had thought about the motion or its implications. “I don’t understand most of them, myself,” he continued, trying to be nonchalant in the face of Bashir’s soft gaze. “Imagine resisting the march of time and the furthering of the interests of the state- and all its people.”   


“But that’s what’s so interesting about Chekhov,” Bashir leaned toward him earnestly. “The Communist regime began not long after, and all his visions of the future and of state interests, of the state of society, were overwritten by the march of history.”  


“That was your Soviet Union, was it not?”  


“Indeed it was,” Bashir nodded. “The play is a little more interesting in that context, isn’t it? Less of a comical character study, more of a historical irony. A tragedy, like Stanislavski directed it. After all, private land was seized shortly thereafter. And anyone who had spent so much time in Paris would likely not have survived Stalin’s rule, even if they made it through Lenin’s.” Julian did not seem to notice as he spoke that Garak could not take his eyes from the doctor’s face.  


“You know, doctor, I miss our little talks.”  


Bashir looked surprised for a moment, as well he should- it wasn’t often that Elim Garak would admit to having an attachment. “Yes, I’m sorry,” He said as his expression shifted to earnest. “I really didn’t mean to cancel on you two weeks in a row, it was just the emergency surgery one week and then the visiting delegation the next….” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m just making excuses; how about if we start having lunch twice a week? Then if I miss one, we still have the other.”  


Julian’s hopeful little sideways smile was too pure to obfuscate around, so Garak said, “I would like that.”  
* 

_Oh, god, Elim… _  
__

__Yes… Yes… But that wasn’t right, was it? Did Julian know his first name?  
__

__

_Please, Elim, please… _  
__

__No, no, no, not again-  
__

__

_And it was too late, and he was holding Bashir close and feeling that particular warmth of internally-generated heat escaping. _  
*__

 _ _“Hello, Jadzia, Quark said I might find you here,”  
__

__

The beautiful Trill looked up. “Oh, hello Garak.” She was obviously surprised, but did not seem offended by his presence. He took that as a good sign and put on his best manners as she asked, “Why were you looking for me?”  


“Well, you see, I’ve been attempting to start my own little garden- nice to have these things, you know- and I was considering purchasing some Trill varieties; would you happen to know anything about how Trill plants generally do in artificial conditions?”  


Jadzia tapped her stylus against her chin. “You know, I think there’s a type of Trill carrot- well, it’s sort of like a carrot, it grows yellow and has these really plume-like leaves on top- Lela was a bit of a green thumb, but that was so many years ago and the technology for growing things in space has really changed… I think the carrot would be a good starting place though, they’re very hardy; my mother grew absolute masses of them and she could hardly keep anything else alive!” Her open expression lends a friendliness to the rambling that might have been awkward coming from someone else.  


“Thank you very much, Jazdia,” he made her a little bow, accompanied by his most ingratiating smile.  


“Of course! No trouble; let me know how it goes!” She smiles, but it’s a clear dismissal, and he leaves with a courteous smile of his own, telling himself that it could have gone worse and making a mental note to take her some of the Trill carrots if he ever managed to grow any.  


Mentally, he crossed one more person off the list of those he ought to try to get to know better. True, Jadzia had been friendly… and perhaps he didn’t feel _quite _so desperately alone. He kept a hint of his smile in place as he walked through the station, nodding at people he recognized, trying to cultivate every tie he could in the place that had so suddenly and painfully become a reality as a permanent home. Then again, it was by and large pointless to pretend that he wasn’t still in the grip of an undercurrent of desperation, wishing he were anywhere but where he was. Garak wanted to be surrounded by his own people, wanted to be warm as he hadn’t been in too long, doing work he was truly good at and suited for, not something he had to sham at enjoying every day, regardless of the quality of results. It was a shame to realize at his age that he was not where he wanted to be, but there it was.  
__

__Sitting idle on the station had been bad enough with the implant, without it was near to torture. Little sleep, none of it peaceful, worsened the condition. He was nearing the point that he might well risk a trip to sickbay and the stares of the Bajoran nurses as he received treatment from his own dear doctor. _That _was the idea he really couldn’t stand, the thought that Bashir would see him so weak, when Julian was the only person left who looked at him with any real emotion. The others offered him the wide berth due to a reported agent of the Obsidian Order, watched him with degrees of wariness and disgust, and spoke to him only perfunctorily. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to build himself a niche he was truly comfortable in. It was like being an old style sailing ship on a choppy winter sea, flung around in the cold with nary a chance of safe harbor.  
____

____And of course, sometimes the deck rocked. Gul Dukat showed up, someone from his past made contact, something went wrong on the station for which they needed Cardassian biosigns to solve and he was abruptly in demand, sometimes a Bajoran attempted to show forgiveness for his entire race by pinning him down and praying at him. It was on these occasions that he stumbled, part of his mask slipping, just enough to leave him feeling off-balanced and exposed, utterly incompetent.  
* ____

____

_Julian, Julian, Julian… please, oh god- _and he broke down, spilling a stream of pleading Kardasi he could barely understand himself. It was blurry, and he wasn’t sure why he woke, but there was a wave of horror that seemed unconnected to the dream- more like the memory of the others, and the threat of repetition, the idea that it could happen again, or worse, happen in waking hours…  
__

__He lay on his back in the dark, looking at the ceiling, hating Enabran Tain, hating himself, and when he got up for a glass of kanaar he found himself staring at the doors to his quarters wishing they would open.  
* __

__

A long dinner with Odo, who enjoyed his company for no other reason than because it meant the constable knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.  


This wasn’t as intolerable as some of the other things he’d tried, and as it turned out, Odo had read a surprising amount of literature. Most of it Bajoran, but that couldn’t be helped. Their religious texts were substantially more interesting now that there were so many confirmations of various mysterious phenomena, so much more to speculate about. It still wasn’t as good as Bashir’s company. Besides, Odo didn’t eat, and half the usual fun was watching the doctor do his best with some unwieldy comestible.  


“Tell me, Constable; I’ve heard rumors that your taste in reading material isn’t strictly religious,” he finally said in an attempt to get them both more engaged.  


Odo looked sharply at him. “Just what are you implying, Garak?”  


Waving an airy hand, he demurred, “why, nothing at all! I was simply wondering if you would care to discuss something besides the revered Bajoran texts.”  


“Such as?” Odo prompted, not giving anything away. That was the real bore about spending time with Odo- he did not understand the subtleties of conversation. Or perhaps, having served so long on a Cardassian station, understood them and did not care to participate. It made for an uncomfortably one-sided dance.   


“Whatever you would like! Perhaps you’ve had some-” he cast about- “interesting dreams lately?” He needled himself as much as the constable, who harrumphed.   


“You know I don’t dream, Garak.”   


“Oh, perhaps not as humanoids do, but you must have a similar experience,”  


“Hm.” Odo was reticent.  


Garak shook his head. “My dear Odo, surely even resting in a bucket comes with some alleviation from sensing idly at the sides of said bucket.”  


“It… I prefer not to discuss it.”   


“Very well, of course,” Garak nodded forgivingly. “A very private matter, one’s resting habits. I completely understand. My apologies.”  


Odo inclined his head in that way that made him look all angles despite the unfinished roundness of his face. “Thank you.”  


They sat in silence, Garak sipping his drink. “I wonder, Constable, if I might ask a favor.”   


“That depends heavily on the favor.”  


Garak tried to take a deep breath without it being noticeable that he was doing so, trying to steady himself. There was something in his chest wanting him to run to the nearest airlock and throw himself out of it, but his spirit was stubbornly unbreakable. He almost wished it wouldn’t be; to be weak would be far easier, to be weak would allow him to quit, to stop fighting for life on an unfriendly station. “Would you care to join me for dinner again next week? Or perhaps something less humanoid-centric, if you prefer?”  


Odo stared at him, obviously shocked, and it was several moments before the Constable’s eyes flashed understanding and his face relaxed. “That would be… acceptable. And dinner is just fine- I do not mind observing,”  


“Wonderful,” Garak spread his hands with a smile. His relief was strongly tinged with bitterness, and there was not much he could do about the pity in Odo’s eyes but accept it and pretend he did not see it. Tell himself- tell them both- that he was _friends _with Odo for the eventual advantage it might bring, the information he might gain from the station’s chief of security. Never mind that he could get anything he wanted from the computer any time he wanted. Odo, too, was an outsider here, and as such perhaps they could learn from one another. Garak wanted to know how the Constable did it, how he made it through each interminable day on the station. Surely there must be something he could offer in trade, and given enough time in one another’s company perhaps they’d come to that arrangement.  
__

__Odo still wasn’t Doctor Bashir.  
* __

__

_This time, neither of them died. Garak could speak, and when he did he apologized. Julian smiled, so widely and brightly it threatened to overwhelm Garak completely. The doctor took him in his arms, and it was so like what he wanted from his waking hours that he startled awake with ragged breathing, knowing he was close to tears. _  
*__

 _ _“Julian, I wondered if I might… ask a favor of you.” Garak winced. The words were still hard to force out when they were meant honestly. Even after so much loss, so much adaptation.  
__

__

Startled, the doctor looked up from his meal. “Yes, Garak, of course, anything.”  


The response soothed his nerves the slightest bit, making what he was about to do just marginally easier. “I would like… if you are amenable, that is, I would like- to spend more time with you.” To be so direct was a challenge. To be so honest even more so.  


Bashir watched him for a moment with wide, startled eyes, looking like nothing so much as a surprised deer. He smiled slightly, then frowned. “What did you have in mind?”  


Garak tried to keep eye contact, to stay nonchalant. “Oh, anything you like. I know you’re fond of the holodeck, or we could simply spend more time at lunch together…”  


“Or maybe dinner?” Bashir asked, and his eyebrows were raised hopefully, and Garak was so blindsided by the expression that he simply looked at Julian for a moment, opening blinking slowly, and then he nodded.  


“Yes, or dinner. Whatever you like, of course.”  


Bashir changed his position slightly, and in the next moment Garak felt something bump his feet. He raised his eyeridges and resisted the urge to look under the table, easily able to guess that what was moving against his foot was in fact Doctor Bashir’s foot. “Do you know, I wasn’t sure you’d ever say that,”  


The doctor’s casual flippancy gave him pause. The time since his implant had failed had been some of the most trying of his life, the difficulty in finding his footing in the situation he’d finally accustomed himself to some of the most trying he’d put himself through. And he must have covered it better than he’d previously thought, because here was Julian- dear, sweet, naïve Julian- flirting just like a human with a simple little crush, not watching him with the pity that Odo did or the confused and cautious acceptance that Jadzia assigned his presence. As he realized that the look in Bashir’s eyes was exactly what he wanted it to be, Garak edged his foot closer to Julian under the table in a sort of surrender, allowed a smile to play about the corners of his mouth, and said, “when would you like this dinner to take place, doctor?”   


“Call me Julian,” was the automatic response, followed by, “I’m off duty tonight; do you think you’ll be closing your shop with enough time to come to dinner afterwards?”  


“I think so,” Garak agreed. “Would you prefer to dine on the promenade or a more… private venue?” He turned his smile into a little more of a leer.   


Julian dropped his gaze for a moment, and when it returned to Garak’s face it was a little darker, a little more open. “I wouldn’t object to something a little more private if you wouldn’t.”  


“On the contrary, doctor, that sounds quite pleasant.”   


“My quarters, then, tonight at 1900?”  


Garak nodded calmly, refusing to show that his breathing had quickened and his heart rate ticked up. “Wonderful!”  


“Until then,” Bashir smiled enigmatically and stood, leaning very close over the table as he leveraged himself up, and Garak stopped breathing just for a moment as Julian’s face came closer than it had ever been in his waking hours.   


The time until dinner could not have passed any more slowly, and yet it seemed to race by as Garak contemplated what he had done. Somehow, he had gotten himself into the position to receive what he most wanted, and yet there was a knot of nerves in his stomach as though he were guilty of some terrible crime and knew it was about to be discovered.  


But then, he supposed he was.  


Sitting alone in his shop, he was periodically astonished to look down at his hands and not see them bathed in blood. He had washed them often enough; still, it seemed as though it must seep back up from under the skin, waiting for him to turn his wrists and show dripping palms to the world. He tried to forget his life before, the things he’d done once and would no longer. But his life now was almost worse, for then he had believed in himself, in his cause, regardless of what those beliefs had led him into. Now he had nothing, nothing but the loneliness that must surely be his reward for a lifetime of service to one person, to one state. It was all he could do not to wallow in self-pity, and besides that the dreams kept coming back to him, all of them all at once, and he didn't want to go anywhere or see anyone, all he wanted was to sink into dreamless sleep and erase his memories, his ability to think, his very personality. Perhaps tonight he’d be given something to live for instead of to pine for. He could believe in Doctor Bashir.  


“Hello,” a Caitian pushed open the door to his shop and padded in. “I’ve torn a skirt; do you have time to mend it?”   


Garak looked up at this incongruous interruption to his musings. _ah, the life of a tailor _“Yes, of course,” he stood and smiled. “May I see it?”  
__

__“It’s very plain,” The Caitian held out her bag and withdrew from it a green skirt, made from simple cloth in a fairly generic color. “But it was my mother’s, and I’m… fond of it,”  
__

__

The tailor made a show of taking the thing extremely gently, examining the tear with careful fingers. “This is hardly anything to worry about, my dear, I’ll have it repaired for you in no time,” he smiled at her again, reassuringly this time rather than welcomingly. “Please, come in, feel free to look around,” he retired to his work station and moved aside the previous project in favor of laying the skirt delicately across his work surface, rummaging for the appropriate thread and needle. True, he had a machine for this, but there were some things one simply did best by hand.   


“You do fine work,” The Caitian observed, examining a light green tunic he had designed with Bashir in mind.  


“I thank you,” he didn’t look up, focusing on weaving the tiny needle in and out of the fabric she had presented him with. “What brings you to Deep Space Nine?”  


“I work on a freighter,” was the casual response, tossed over her shoulder as she moved to look at a mauve dress with a suitable slit for species with tails such as the Caitians.  


Garak nodded, even though she wasn’t looking. “Do you like that?”  


“Yes, most days,” She answered, and looked about the shop once more, seeming to seek something to take her attention off of him. He took the hint and worked in silence, but a moment later she was speaking again. “Do you like it here?”  


He paused. “Yes, most days.” _Or, well, some of them. _“Life on Deep Space Nine is… quite interesting,”  
__

__“Life in space in general seems to fit that description,” she agreed with a smile. “Sometimes I think it all depends on who we share it with. Like my mother,” She nodded toward the skirt he was bent over. “She made boring days fun, and hard days tolerable. That’s why… well, let’s just say I’ve had that skirt mended more than once,”  
__

__

“Mm, I know someone like that,” Garak said. “There, good as new,” He tied off his thread and held up her skirt, offering it for inspection.  


“Wonderful! Thank you! What do I owe you?”  


Garak tilted his head. “You’ve distracted me and reminded me of something very important. I’d say we’re even,” He smiled.  


The Caitian laughed, the sound somewhere close to a purr. “Well, a generous Cardassian. And one who smiles, none the less.”  


Smiling wider, Garak handed over the skirt. “I hope you have a pleasant day, my dear, and enjoy your skirt.”  


“Thank you, I will.” She left the shop with a slight swish in her step, her tail brushing the door frame on the way out. Garak watched her go, and wondered if that slight feeling of having done a kindness for a stranger could ever be enough to overcome a lifetime of doing ill to those he knew.  
* 

“Julian,” Garak whispered helplessly. Not a feeling he was comfortable with, but one he could live with in this instance.  


Julian wrapped his arm around Garak’s waist, the other coming to rest around his shoulders, and pulled him as close as he could possibly get. “Garak,” he whispered back, kissing the side of the Cardassian’s neck, just where it was particularly sensitive. The tailor shivered. “You know that I’m here, if you want to talk,”  


Garak huffed in mixed amusement and annoyance. “Of course, my dear. But perhaps we could talk later?  


“Mm, wonderful idea,” Julian answered, working at the clasps on the tailor’s tunic.  


True to form, however, Julian Bashir could not be quiet for long. “What made you finally notice?”  


“Oh- notice what, my dear?” He dragged one hand through Bashir’s hair, the way he’d dreamed- back when his dreams were pleasant enough to allow such things.  


“Notice how much I was flirting with you,”  


Garak was surprised, to say the least, though current circumstances should perhaps have rendered him less so. “I- I didn’t.” He answered, gasping as Julian found particularly creative things to do to the scales on the back of his neck. “I simply- couldn’t stand it any longer,”  


“Couldn’t stand what?”   


“Your not noticing how much _I _was flirting with _you _,” Garak chuckled lightly as Bashir worked his hands beneath the Cardassian’s thermal tunic.  
____

____Julian laughed, a sound which turned breathy when Garak took the opportunity to apply his teeth to the juncture of Julian’s neck and shoulder. “What a pair we are, eh?”  
  
“Quite,” Garak replied, and there was no more talking for a while.____

 _ _ _ _

* 

_There was no peace. There would never be peace, not in his waking life. Not on Deep Space Nine, not if he ever got back to Cardassia. And he couldn’t tell where he was, not this time. He seemed to be caught in some sort of limbo, and all that was real was the bed beneath him, the warmth and comforting scent of Julian Bashir in his arms. This dream was more like wakefulness, but wakefulness with _peace, _as though reality had taken leave of itself. The only peace he was likely to get was there in his arms, and only for the few short hours between when their lives had come together and when the rest of the station- and the quadrant, and probably the universe itself- would start trying to take them apart again. Blearily, he pulled Bashir closer, feeling the young doctor shift closer in return. _  
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